


His Heart is Not Klingon!

by Wulf47



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Duras is a Little Shit, Klingon, Politics, Self-Insert, Space Battles, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25130701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wulf47/pseuds/Wulf47
Summary: A Duras self insert told exclusively from third person. Each chapter is a different POV. How will the galaxy change with a more competent but still fairly evil Duras? Let's find out!
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end of his life, Klingon Chancellor K'mpec reflects on recent events and Klingon politics in general.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, The Next Generation or the Klingon Empire. I’m also not going to be making money from this. These are all my own words, nothing is plagiarized.

Chapter One  
Stardate 44231.9

K’mpec heaved a sigh after another long day with the council. It never used to be this draining. In his younger days he thrived on the politics, the backstabbing, the double-talk, it had energized him, made him feel like a young blood on his first Soqmoh viq but now he was an old man, tired and fat, well, fatter, and he just couldn’t care anymore. He could hardly remember the days when it all mattered to him.

People don’t seem to remember, or don’t want to, but back in those days The Empire was at its weakest. After the destruction of Praxis, countless wars, both internal and external had sapped The Empire’s remaining strength. With no ally at its back The Empire wasn’t quite losing ground but it was growing thin. It was the Federation that gave the Klingons back their bite, not that he’d ever admit it. The feds were soft, sure, but their industrial capacity was greater than the Romulan and Klingon Empires combined, perhaps even Cardassia too. It was the billions of cheap components and resources that flooded past the border year after year that were responsible for the current economic boom on Qo’noS and its holdings and was the reason that most of The Empire’s civilian and merchant vessels were built or upgraded using Federation technology, using Federation parts, but not the military, oh no, no captain would ever allow Federation technology onto their ships. Klingon holotechnology had also vastly improved thanks to the Federation, allowing young warriors to test themselves against holographic opponents, but shedding simulated blood could only sate his people for so long.  
Despite it all and despite the fact that he still fiercely loved his people, sometimes old K’mpec was jealous of the Federation. No Federation President ever had to deal with what K’mpec had to deal with. You see, Klingons are a prideful, passionate lot, slow to change and quick to anger. K’mpec and the Council could pass any laws they wanted but if the people didn’t want to follow them, they wouldn’t, it seems like half of K’mpec’s job in recent years has been managing his own kind, keeping them content or at least keeping them from rioting for this or that, something that didn’t seem to be a problem for the too passive Federation. At times, to the old man it resembled herding blind targ, something that seemed to be getting even harder to do: his people were getting restless. You see, today’s young warriors are so obsessed with the idea of fighting a war, a real war, that they don’t think about the damage it would do, they don’t consider the cost, they just want the thrill of the chase, the call of battle, they want their enemies blood splattered on their faces and they don’t particularly care who or what species that enemy is. There has been no war worth the name since the signing on Khitomer, since K’mpec’s predecessor Azetbur brought peace to The Empire, a peace it desperately needed even if it certainly didn’t want it. All it would take…

K’mpec was tired, too tired and too drunk to continue such thoughts. Pausing his dreary internal monologue, he looked around his office for the damned cup of bloodwine, then noticing it was still in his hand, empty. Lugging himself over to the bar, the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council refilled the cup and stumbled back into his chair only to gulp down the goblet’s contents in seconds before tossing it in the general direction of his desk. Yes, he was drunk, as he often was after a long day spent doing this, that and the other, all in service to the glorious Klingon Empire. He just didn’t have the energy to do it anymore, any of it, and he didn’t know if it was the old age that was responsible, or the increased weight, or just not getting enough sleep, or maybe a combination of all three that was responsible for it.

… or perhaps it was the poison, oh he was definitely still being poisoned. How he had raged when his useless doctors told him, when the red mist descended for the first time in many years, in fact it was the first time in an age that he had felt any strong emotion. Death by poison was no honorable death, there would be no glorious afterlife for him. He had won many battles in his day, both in war and in politics, but now it seemed not that he had lost his final battle, but that it had lost him. However, this was something K’mpec had reluctantly accepted, knowing that Sto-vo-kor was forever barred to him, it had given him a sense of relief in a way the old man couldn’t quite articulate, even if it also made him melancholy. He still didn’t know who it was who’d killed him. Oh, he had his suspicions, but the way the councilors looked at him, they knew, either because they had all briefly put aside their animosities and collaborated to kill him, something even old K’mpec had trouble believing, or more likely, one of his doctors had told them, regardless the whole sorry lot of them now looked at him the way a targ looks when it scents blood. Either Gowron or Duras, working alone or as ringleader, it had to be one of them. One year ago, hell, even four jar ago he would have been sure it was Duras, that little p’takh, but now… Duras was different, or was he?

It had started almost a year ago after those damned logs were uncovered on that Romulan warbird Antaak had captured. When they had discovered that it was Duras’ father, Ja’rod who had transmitted Khitomer’s defense codes to the Romulans, despite the fact that he himself died in the following attack that killed almost all of the people there, Duras had raged, swearing to bring war to The Empire if the truth wasn’t hidden, if the dishonor wasn’t shifted onto another. Then he got a faraway look in his eye and seemed for a moment to be in shock before quickly excusing himself from council chambers, causing many a raised eyebrow among the council. He had returned minutes later, then calm, and recommended that the blame be placed on Mogh. Mogh, who died at Khitomer in that same attack, who had been a friend to K’mpec for many years, had but one child, a son who became a Starfleet officer and would most likely never be affected by such a declaration and would quite possibly never know of it considering how far removed from The Empire he was. That at least was Duras’ reasoning and it was something that most of the council agreed with. That Mogh was a longtime rival of Ja’rod certainly wasn’t the main reason behind the “recommendation”, at that thought K’mpec snorted into his goblet mid-sip, having retrieved it from the floor at some point and refilled it before slumping back into his chair.

After that Duras had been different, less combative and seemed to actually listen when others spoke to him. K’mpec at the time had hoped that the shock of his father’s crime had changed the boy, how disappointed he was when he finally discovered that Duras hadn’t really changed at all, he’d just become more careful, perhaps too careful to plot to kill an old man who couldn’t have many years left to him anyway. It wasn’t yet a day since the allegation against Mogh was made public that his spies reported to him that assassins loyal to Duras had killed a scion of the House of Lorgh as well an elderly woman in the Old Quarter of the First City. At first even the venerable Chancellor couldn’t believe that Duras would hire assassins to kill some random old woman, that was until he saw the pictures of the body. Her face, aged by the decades since their last meeting but still recognizable to him: Kahlest: the woman who had once rebuffed his advances and called him fat, regardless of his position and status and she only being a poor childminder, a woman he thought long dead. After that, nothing and no one could ever convince him that Duras was truly a changed man, no matter how many times he heard people say it. After that, he thought nothing could ever surprise him again. Duras might have changed in some ways, but he was still Duras after all, no matter his actions at Wolf 359.

…then Worf, son of Mogh arrived on Qo’noS. Worf, in whose chest beat the heart of a true Klingon even after living most of his life amongst humans. That alone would have given K’mpec hope for his people if he hadn’t had to do what he did next. Worf, who had challenged the accusation, challenged him, and had even brought his human captain in to be his Cha’Dlch. At that thought K’mpec finally stopped his musings. Picard! Picard was who he needed! Despite his tiredness and inebriation K’mpec shot out of his chair.

“Computer, give me the last reported location of the Federation Starship Enterprise and send an immediate summons to Ambassador K’Ehleyr!”

For the first time in a long time old K’mpec felt vital, young. Perhaps he would find his way to Sto-vo-kor after all.

________________________  
Some Klingon terms and their meanings  
Soqmoh viq – Close Battle  
Qo’noS – Klingon home world, also known as Kronos  
Targ – Spiked Klingon boars, treated as both a pet and a food source  
Bloodwine – a strong alcoholic drink made from fermented targ blood and sugar  
Sto-vo-kor – Klingon afterlife where a warrior’s spirit supposedly goes after death  
Jar – A Klingon month, roughly the length of two human months  
P’takh – a Klingon curse word, basically means coward but doesn’t really translate  
Cha’Dlch – a Klingon warrior’s ‘second’ during trial  
________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s Chapter One! Please let me know if you prefer that I use Klingon terminology and language, even with explanations down below, or would rather I use normal English. I’ve found that for me when reading those fics, even though the writer is trying to engage the reader through realism it usually only serves to take me out of the fic if I have to hunt down what so-and-so means or what this translates to, even when translations are provided for below I still have to stop reading, check it out, and then find my place again so for me I’d rather it be plain English. But that’s my preference for reading, I’m writing this to be read so it depends on what you guys think.  
> Let me know if you find any mistakes and I’ll correct them, unless it’s about run-on-sentences, comma over usage, lack of indentation or how I sometimes start a paragraph with an ellipsis, I’ve tried to stop but I’m too old to learn and now simply think of it as part of my “writing style.”  
> My thanks to britcuppaT for beta reading, that said, I am still on the hunt for beta readers so if anyone is interested let me know.  
> I’m aware this chapter is less show and more tell but that’s because the POV character is an old man trying to find meaning at the end of his life and is wallowing and thinking on his mistakes and fate. The next chapter will be from the perspective of a warrior mid-battle so there won’t be much of an internal monologue, I just needed to get some stuff out of the way before we can get to the good stuff, I’ll try to keep exposition at a minimum in the future if I can help it.  
> Please don’t ask me where this fic is going or what’ll happen next because the truth is that I have no idea. I’ve written fics before where I had huge outlines well laid out but got bored only a few chapters in. This way it stays interesting because even I don’t know where it’ll lead. That’s the fun!  
> Lastly, I’ll be cross-posting this on fanfiction.net, AO3, Spacebattles, Sufficient Velocity, Questionable Questing, and alternatehistory.com. If you have a comment for this and future chapters and want me to respond sooner rather than later I’d recommend you do so over on alt history as that’s the site I mostly use and am more likely to check daily, I’ll be interacting with commenters more over there. I might also add the occasional “adult content” exclusive to QQ, I’ve got to get that NSFW rating somehow or no one would read it! So be on the lookout for that if you’re interested.  
> Chapter Two will be a Klag POV!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can two small Klingon birds of prey even hope of surviving against a Borg Cube? The answer may surprise you!

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, The Next Generation or the Klingon Empire. I’m also not going to be making money from this. These are all my own words, nothing is plagiarized.

Chapter Two  
Stardate 44002.5

“Bring us around for another pass, combat maneuver Kor-Two!”

Immediately obeying the orders of his captain, Commander Klag of the IKS Pagh raced over to the tactics display where the body of his friend Lieutenant Dukath was slumped over the controls. Tossing the corpse away from the station Klag engaged the ship’s weapon systems, locking onto the Borg ship and entered in the firing solutions while another officer, Zegov, executed combat maneuvers from the conn.

The Pagh, along with the Vorn and the Rok’tor had been on silent maneuvers in the Orion Sector when the call came in that the Federation were asking for aid and the three birds of prey were the closest to the battlefield. Duras, in command of the squadron, had immediately ordered them to intercept the Borg at Wolf 359 at maximum warp though, unfortunately his own ship, the Vorn, had problems with its engine and could only maintain speed at Warp 7, meaning the other two ships would arrive on the battlefield a few minutes before it. Duras had also ordered all three ships to set their disruptors to randomize their frequencies every time they fired and to set their torpedoes for maximum yield.

Upon entering the system they had dropped out of warp to find a massive debris field. For a second, Klag thought they had perhaps found their way into a Federation scrap yard but then noticed that many of the ships were still exploding. Once they found their bearings they set a course for the Borg Cube, ignoring the numerous distress calls coming from the broken ships, shuttles and escape pods they passed on the way. That was six minutes ago, now the Rok’tor’s shields were down and was limping away in preparation for another pass and the Pagh was not faring much better. Where is Duras!

The conn officer finishes entering in the combat maneuver code and the ship lurches slightly as the ship computer itself takes control of the helm as well as tactical, making corrections as needed to avoid Borg tractor and cutting beams as well as keeping the ship from colliding with debris, reacting in microseconds, much faster than any humanoid could. Across the ship men and women struggle to keep their balance as the ship continuously shakes and rolls. As the ship computer goes about completing its tasks, Klag and a few others on the bridge let out a quick sigh, feeling like they can finally breathe despite the danger, if only for a moment. Still, everyone now keeps a close eye on their readouts, one of the Cube’s early attacks on the Rok’tor had knocked out its computer, meaning all functions on that ship now had to be under manual control which was part of why that ship was now in such dire straits, they would need to take control immediately if the same happens to the Pagh.

Once again both ships begin another pass, coming in at different angles and on opposite sides of the Cube. Both make their attack runs, the Pagh’s being much more accurate thanks to their computer. Green disruptor blasts strike at the Borg ship as well as a full spread of torpedoes, all doing very little observable damage. Still, both birds of prey keep pace with each other, even while staying on opposite sides of the massive ship. For a second it looks like their attack had no effect but then the Cube completely stops, briefly pausing in its counter attack. Though it only lasts a second at most, Klag’s heart soars at the thought that they had finally, somehow, managed to wound the goliath. Looking about the bridge, he could see the same look of relief on the faces of his shipmates and Captain.

…this feeling is short-lived however. Once the Pagh finishes its attack sequence and control reverts back to the conn before a new sequence can be entered, a Borg cutting beam strikes the ship, completely separating its starboard wing from the rest of it.

Several things happen all at once as explosions rock the ship and half a dozen men and women are vented into space, the ship starts leaking antimatter and other things through the breach and several consoles on the bridge explode, killing several, including Captain Kargan. The oppressive heat from the numerous blasts flares around Klag and the survivors for a moment, and the brightness of the explosions blinds them briefly. Realizing he is now in command, Klag leaps up and starts barking orders for men to relieve their fallen comrades and orders Zegov to take evasive actions. He would not order a full retreat, no Klingon would, but they would need to get far enough away from the Borg before they could even think about attacking again. The main viewscreen, though operational, is filled with static and keeps cutting out but through it Klag, now Captain Klag, can see the Borg ship tracking the Pagh, synchronizing with its movements as the ship’s computer urgently tries to keep out of the giant ship’s targeting solutions. The small ship cannot escape, however, as the Borg Cube fires its tractor beam, trapping the wrecked ship and keeping it from escape.

Sensing that the battle was lost, at least for the Pagh, Klag looks around the bridge, making eye contact with a few of his men. Glancing down at his computer readout, he sees that warp drive is indeed offline, as if there was any question with one of their nacelles cut off.

“Lieutenant Zegov, prepare to ram the Cube with all available power, engineering, prepare to detonate the war core! Today is a good day to die! Qa’pla!”

The battle may be lost but the men and women of the IKS Pagh would die honorably in battle, granting them passage to Sto-vo-kor, where the honored dead reside. It is a place every Klingon dreams of going, a place of glory, but only the warriors who give their lives for their empire are guaranteed a place. Klag’s own father would not be allowed a place in its halls, after he was defeated by the Romulans in battle and was not allowed an honorable death, he was instead captured, a grave dishonor, and despite his later escape, is now shunned and waits to die a natural death, that he may be a stain on his family no longer.

The preparations are soon made and Klag makes his way to the Captain’s chair, stepping over rubble and bodies to get there, it is now a blasted mess and still covered in the former captain’s blood but Klag sits down on it anyway. Raising his hand, Klag stares sternly at the flickering image of the Borg Cube on the viewscreen before raising his voice so all on the bridge may hear.

“It was an honor serving with you and it is an honor to die with you! For the Empire!”

“For the Empire!” half a dozen scattered voices fervently reply.

He was just about to give the command when the unexpected happened…

the Rok’tor had just rammed the Cube.

Even with their computer and shields down as well as half a dozen other key systems, the Rok’tor had still apparently been warp capable. They rammed the Cube at warp speed in a desperate attempt to damage the ship and rescue their comrades on the Pagh. The resulting explosion did little to damage the cube but still disabled their tractor beam, at least temporarily. Not one to let an opportunity pass by, Klag orders the ship back into evasive actions. Thanks to the other ship, the Pagh might just be able to commence another attack one last time before it too is destroyed. With disruptors and shields down their options for attack are extremely limited but then Klag remembers the shuttles.

Klingon warships do not have escape pods but they do have repair pods and light-assault craft, shuttles, three of them, perfect for troop transport and boarding actions. Making sure that the previous preparations to ram the enemy ship are still logged in the computer Klag orders all able-bodied warriors to the shuttle bay and to prepare for disembarkation, not just the boarding crews but all surviving crew members still able to swing a bat’leth and fire a disruptor. After making sure everything is ready, Klag looks about the Pagh’s bridge for the final time, leaving the ship in command of Lieutenant Ashok, the ship’s communications officer who was too badly burned in the preceding attack to fight in close quarters. The young warrior turns to Klag, an impressive feat considering the damage done to his body. Though half of his face is burned black with much of the soft flesh melted off and the left half of his body similarly damaged the young man thumps his chest with his fist with all of his strength, silently giving his Captain a Klingon salute, gazing fiercely at his superior with his lone working eye. Klag returns the salute and departs. Soon enough the remaining crew, 20 men and women altogether, board the assault craft, keeping six or seven to a shuttle.

Coming out from behind the wreckage of the USS Kyushu behind which it had briefly hidden, the IKS Pagh began its final, suicidal run at the Cube, the attack shuttles directly behind it, using the damaged bird of prey to cover themselves until the last possible moment. As soon as they were once again in range of the enormous ship, the Pagh, guided by its miraculously still-working computer, fired the last of its torpedoes while the shuttles behind it went ballistic, that is to say they cut all power and would now drift the rest of the way in hope of being seen by the Borg as only passing debris. The gambit seems to work but it appears the Borg have finally adapted to Klingon tactics and had anticipated the ramming attempt. A Borg cutting laser strikes the Bird of Prey, targeting its warp core before the ship could get in range and before the shuttles could clear the blast zone.

The resulting explosion is immense and a part of the hull strikes one of the shuttles, completely smashing it to pieces. Several small pieces also strike the remaining two shuttles, most of the pieces are small, measuring only in centimeters but without shields they blast through the small craft just the same.

The crews of the shuttles scramble to patch the small breaches before they lose too much pressure and air, panic clear on their faces, and do manage to seal all the holes in time. Finally, the remaining shuttles get close enough to the Cube and pass through its electromagnetic field, allowing for transport. In the old days before transporters these attack craft would be outfitted with plasma cutters and would use them to carve boarding circles into enemy ships but now all they needed was to transport over and that is indeed what Klag and the remaining thirteen warriors do.

For a microsecond Klag feels the uncomfortable sensation of being in two places at the same time but it soon passes and he and the others find themselves in a long grey hallway. The cold, stark environment sending a shiver down his spine, unnerving him to a degree. They encounter the Borg fairly early in their exploration of the ship but, strangely enough, they are paid no mind by the aliens. That is until Klag orders his men to fire on the nearby distribution nodes. Once they do that the Borg start streaming in from all directions and attack them. At first, many Borg fall to Klingon disruptors but they soon adapt their shielding, even with the disruptors set to random frequencies. They seem to have a much harder time adapting to the bat’leth however. Enemies who fight using sharpened pieces of metal presents as an out-of-context problem for the Borg and they appear confused at how to fight against them. This allows Klag and his men the advantage and together they kill all the Borg in the first wave. However, while there are only ten remaining Klingons, the Borg are legion and soon another wave approaches with more undoubtedly on the way but despite this the warrior’s morale soars. Klag wipes the sweat from his brow and readies himself for the next wave.

“Glorious! This is how every fight should be! Our ancestors and fallen friends are smiling down on us even now!” Klag shouts.

Every swing of Klag’s sword brings down another opponent, every minute more Borg bodies fall, they’re beginning to pile up! To Klag, every second feels like an hour, every minute, a lifetime. This is the Viq Qong: the Klingon battle sleep, Klag’s arms swing his weapon faster than he can think and by the time he registers seeing an enemy from the corner of his eye he’s already turned to face it and is already attacking.

…but it all Goes. Horribly. Wrong.

Before Klag can respond he feels two pinpricks on the back of his neck, swinging around he decapitates the Borg who had injected him but it’s too late. Klag can feel the nanites traveling through his blood, like ice flooding through his veins, it feels wrong. As he looks around desperately it is then that he finally notices that he’s the last one, all of his brothers and sisters have already died, when did they fall?

As the adrenaline from the fight bleeds away Klag realizes, to his horror, that he is being assimilated. That like his father, he too is being denied an honorable death, being denied his place in Sto-vo-kor. Now seeing it from the other side, he realizes how unfair he was to his father and laments that he won’t be able to tell him so. Reaching into his vest, Klag pulls out his dk’tahg dagger and, within seconds of completely losing his own free will, slams the blade into his chest with a wordless cry, piercing his heart.

So falls Klag, son of M'Raq, former Captain of the IKS Pagh.

With the causes of their disruption finally gone, the Borg who were previously fighting soon resume their regular duties as if nothing had happened, leaving a few to haul the dead off to reclamation. It is only then that two ships drop out of warp into the system.

They are the USS Enterprise and the IKS Vorn.

…to be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the answer to the above question is No! OK, maybe not a surprise.
> 
> I know, I know! I hate cliffhangers too but this chapter would just be too long otherwise. I also understand that Klag is a bit of a fan favorite for those of you who read the IKS Gorkon series. I really debated furiously with myself over whether or not to kill him but in the end decided that it made more sense for him to die considering how far the odds were against him. Still, he had a good death!
> 
> Again, my thanks to britcuppaT and ArrestedWolverine for beta reading. However, as I said before, I’m still looking for a beta with advanced knowledge of Star Trek, if that’s you and you’re interested please contact me.
> 
> Chapter Three will be a Worf POV!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of the Wolf 359 arc from the perspective of a certain grumpy, bumpy forheaded Chief of Security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, The Next Generation or the Klingon Empire. I’m also not going to be making money from this. These are all my own words, nothing is plagiarized.

Chapter Three  
Stardate 44002.5

The USS Enterprise-D is a very different ship under Red Alert. The interior of the ship, usually warm and vibrant, full of life, especially in the civilian areas, now seems cold and menacing, the flashing wall screens bathing the beige and blue corridors in an ominous red. It’s a time when over two thirds of the ship is deserted and over half of the people on the ship (non-combatants and families of the crew) are safely in their quarters… as safe as they can be during a battle.

It’s during times like this, when the risks are great, that Worf questions the wisdom in allowing families to live aboard ship, especially children. Oh, he understood how the idea was sold to Starfleet, the Family Aboard Program was responsible for reversing the decline in enlistment since the Mirandas, Oberths, even some old Constellations were refitted to allow for families and that number only went higher when the Galaxy class was announced and firmly cemented Starfleet’s new family friendly image. Enlistment had been dropping steadily for decades since Narendra III secured the alliance between his people and the Federation. With the Federation no longer threatened, recruitment dropped and the government slashed Starfleet’s budget, something they were surely regretting now. Still, Worf questioned the wisdom in allowing children on board, and not just because he disliked children in general, but because it would logically split loyalties. To function, a warship needs to be a well oiled machine, and despite Starfleet’s tired refrain of “We’re explorers not soldiers” they aren’t fooling anyone; Enterprise is a warship, no matter what they say and to be that well oiled machine every man and woman has to be relied on to do their job and to focus solely on their job, especially in a crisis. If during a battle one of the armory officers responsible for supervising the loading of the photon torpedoes deserts their post because there was a hull breach reported near their quarters and he or she is worried for their child perhaps the next torpedo isn’t loaded properly and either doesn’t fire, detonates early or doesn’t detonate at all, that one torpedo could just be the difference between victory and defeat or even between the life and death for all 6,000 men, women, and children on board. Even if this supposed armory officer didn’t desert his or her post and Worf is sure that none of his people would ever do that no matter the circumstances, it could still distract them and that one fatal mistake could still be made. ‘For want of a nail’ is the human expression that floats through Worf’s mind as he stands at his station on the bridge, finishing the final checklist before Enterprise joins the Battle of Wolf 359. The way children split loyalties in just one of the reasons why Worf is glad that he is not a father, the others being his previously mentioned dislike for children and his unwillingness to pass on his father’s dishonor to the next genera-

Worf’s thoughts are cut off when a loud chime alerts him that something is happening. It can’t be the Borg, Enterprise is still five minutes away. He only has a second’s glance at his panel to puzzle out the strange yet familiar energy distortions before it becomes immediately obvious what is happening and he shouts to Commander Shelby, recently promoted to First Officer.

“Commander, a Klingon Bird of Prey is decloaking 400 meters off starboard!”

This launches a flurry of activity as Shelby calls Comma-, no Captain Riker who comes out of the Ready Room, arriving just in time to see the Klingon ship fully decloak on the viewscreen. Anger pools inside Worf’s gut as he identifies the ship but he does his best to ignore the feeling and keep his face blank. There was a time when Worf would be feeling excitement at the prospect of being around members of his own species; he had once idealized Klingons and prized his heritage above everything, even his career in Starfleet, but those days are behind him now, evidenced by the fact that Worf no longer wears his baldric. Worf does his best control his rage, and with a look from Riker, Worf begins to speak.

“The ship transponder identifies it as the IKS Vorn, the personal flagship of General Duras.” This earns Worf a raised eyebrow followed by an understanding nod, at this point Riker has been told all about Duras. “Duras, huh? One of Admiral Hanson’s last communiques reported that the Klingons sent a fleet but that should still be over three hours away. Just one ship?” Worf nods, “So it appears sir, unless there are others still cloaked. Its shields are down and we are being hailed.” At that Riker uneasily sits down in the captain’s chair, after a second, looking straight ahead he says “Onscreen.”

With that the image of the bridge of the Klingon ship fills the screen. In the center of both the screen and the alien bridge is a throne-like captain’s chair, itself on a raised circular platform apparently designed to rotate, with various stations arranged around it. This is an older style of Klingon bridge, designed to allow the Captain to watch and observe the whole bridge from his rotating throne intended to remind the other officers of their place, making it so they always had to look up to their Captain. To Worf’s eye the architecture looks almost Cardassian. Seated in that throne is Duras. The General’s eyes gleam even as he gives Riker a somber look.

/basic bridge layout/

“Captain Riker, while it is a pleasure to meet you, I wish it were under better circumstances. You have my sympathies regarding Captain Picard.”

“I appreciate that General but what are you doing out here? It was Starfleet’s understanding that the Klingon fleet was still hours away.”

“Yes, that is true, I have been communicating with the rest of the High Council and we have thirty ships roughly two hours away at maximum warp. However, I myself and my squadron were on silent maneuvers in the Orion Sector when the call came in. We had some unfortunate engine troubles and I had to send the other two ships ahead of us but repairs are now complete. To be clear, I am offering you our aid in the battle. The Vorn may be a small ship but it is armed to the teeth and staffed with the Empire’s best killers!” That last statement is met with a roar of approval by most of the Klingons around Duras. Duras himself now sporting a grin as he continues “Rest assured Captain Riker, both myself and my crew will fight and die for you, you have my bat’leth.”

At that Riker gives Duras and the other Klingons a grateful look but his own face still reflects the seriousness of the situation “Speaking on behalf of my crew I thank you for the help but don’t go planning your funerals just yet General, there’s a smart way to go about this without needlessly throwing your lives away.”

“Understood Captain, please drop your shields and have me transported to your ready room, we need to plan this and we only have minutes to spare.”

“Very well” the captain replies. With that the communication ends and the viewscreen switches back to showing the Bird of Prey, at the same time Riker taps his combadge, “Riker to Chief O’Brian, transport General Duras straight to my ready room.” With that Riker turns to nod at Worf before turning and walking in the direction of said room. That look is all Worf needs to know that he is being ordered to attend the strategy session, turning control of Tactical to Ensign Bailey, he follows closely behind.

Worf is not looking forward to speaking face to face with Duras. The truth is he hates the man but that is irrational and Worf knows it; he is a Starfleet officer first and foremost, and Starfleet officers do not judge others based on flimsy gut feelings, or at least they are not supposed to. Just a year ago, as stated above, Worf would have been thrilled to speak with a member of his own species, but since his own father Mogh’s posthumous discommendation, he had been understandably wary of meeting other Klingons. You see, when a Klingon commits a dishonorable deed, that dishonor not only follows them for the rest of their life, but follows seven generations of their descendants as well. Worf knows that when meeting other Klingons, he will not be greeted warmly or treated with respect, barring a few exceptions such as Duras himself. Not that he was treated all that well before his father’s trial, being the first Klingon Starfleet officer, but now any attempt to bond with his own kind is practically doomed to failure. The fact that it’s Duras just makes it even more complicated.

Truthfully, Duras had been nothing but respectful, some may say kind, to him throughout the trial that occurred months ago. Worf initially hadn’t believed it when K’Ehleyr had told him what the High Council had found. He just couldn’t believe that his own father could have sold out his own people to the Romulans and indeed challenged the accusation himself in person, with Captain Picard actually agreeing to be his Cha’Dlch, his advocate. But the evidence had been overwhelming, and he was unwilling to let his Captain fight to the death for him… the same Captain he had now failed to protect. 

From his own hazy recollections of his father, Mogh didn’t seem the type of man to betray his people, and Worf had to admit that he himself still didn’t fully believe it. It was only when Commander Data looked over the evidence and had found that the USS Intrepid’s own logs completely corroborated the evidence and witness testimony, verifying his father’s crime, that Worf accepted it, he also accepted having to get new furniture, having destroyed many of his belongings upon hearing the news. Though devastated, he was grateful to Chancellor K’mpec for allowing him to withdraw the challenge, and he supposed he was grateful that General Duras did not rightly calling for his blood, but nevertheless he still unjustly hated the man.

Since that time, Worf had changed. While he had always been somewhat reserved, he still had enjoyment in his life but now he is cold and aloof, sullen. He no longer enjoys Klingon culture the way he used to and had in fact deleted his entire collection of Klingon opera, an action that worried his friends enormously. The only reason he hasn’t already thrown his father’s bat’leth out the airlock is because they stopped him, not only because they felt that he would later regret it but because it would technically be littering. Worf instead brought the blade, as well as his baldric, both of which had belonged to his father, to matter reclamation to be processed but suspected that they had simply been put into storage. His change in personality had also worried Captain Picard and the man had ordered him to take mandatory counseling sessions with Deanna. Worf had chafed under the order and resented his friends’ interference but relented. 

Walking into the ready room a few seconds before Captain Riker, Worf forces himself to clear his thoughts of all but the present moment and the fight to come, vigorously shaking his head while doing so. Upon entering the room, he sees that Duras has already arrived and is casually observing the lionfish in the small fish tank, lightly tapping the glass. Upon seeing this Worf does his best to clamp down on his growing anger at the General’s flippant attitude, now is not the time. Duras, seeing the two of them enter, pulls his shoulders back and follows Riker to the desk and all three sit down. There are no further pleasantries, they all know that time is of the essence. Both Klingons sit quietly as Riker clearly and quickly explains the plan to pinpoint Picard’s location and use the Vorn as well as Enterprise’s saucer section to distract the Cube while a small team captures him and brings him back to the ship where Dr. Crusher, Data, and La Forge will try to separate him from the collective. It’s an audacious plan and Worf, hearing it for the first time, is somewhat taken aback but Duras takes it all in stride and shoots Captain Riker an inquisitive look.

“So, what do expect to the be the result of this if successful? You cut Picard off from the collective and he immediately tells you everything you need to know to kill the Borg? You don’t even know what they’ve done to him, I’ve read the reports, the Borg were very careful to remove any trace after your last engagement.” Duras leans forward in his chair. “How can you be sure cutting him off won’t kill him?”

Riker takes a steadying breath, firmly looks into Duras’ eyes and replies “It’s a long shot, I know. We’re hoping that at least by separating him from the collective we’ll be nullifying their advantage.”

“That’s assuming they didn’t assimilate any of the captains and admirals that fought in the battle, including my men.”

At that, Riker looks down at his desk, a pained look on his face “I know, it’s all we can do.” 

In contrast to Captain Riker, Duras is grinning “Well Captain I hope you’ll allow a few of my men to join Lieutenant Worf and Commander Data in their mission. The Borg can adapt to a lot of things but I’d like to see them try to adapt to a seven-kilogram parsteel blade sharpened to an almost monomolecular edge.”

Riker lifted his head, a small smirk of his own beginning to form “That’s a good idea General, I believe we can accommodate you.”

The two continued to speak for another minute with Worf mostly staying silent, it was agreed that an open channel between the ships during the battle wasn’t a good idea as those communications were bound to be intercepted so the Vorn would, for the most part, be acting independently but sticking to the general plan.

With that it seemed like the conversation was over, all three knew their part but Duras again spoke up, the smirk back on his face. “Just one more thing, what about explosives, if you can get close enough to beam a boarding party over and back, why not leave a present for them as you go, say on a two second timer?” 

At this, Worf spoke up, speaking more to the room rather than Duras himself. “Any explosive we have powerful enough to damage the Cube will be detected by their sensors, our objective is clear, any needless deviation from the plan will only invite disaster.”

Duras countered “Why not use explosives that don’t show up on sensors? Triannic charges would work quite nicely, I doubt Picard, or the Borg, know much about them”

“Because we don’t have any!” Worf’s voice is raised, his tone severe, “Those weapons are banned by the Federation!”

At that Duras gave a charmless smirk, not looking offended “Not by the Empire, I have some.”

Worf is about to shout something back, his vision turning red but Riker spoke up again, arms stretched out in front of him as if to separate the two Klingons from the other side of the desk. “General Duras, thank you for the offer and thank you again for your help, please have the explosives transported to our main shuttlebay.” With that the captain rose from this seat. “Now if that’s everything we’re about to arrive.”

The two men shake hands before Duras is transported back to his ship. Now alone, Riker looks back at Worf. “Once they arrive have one of your men check the explosives, tricorders don’t work on Triannic charges and they don’t have time or permission to disassemble one so your men will have to actually use their eyes.” Worf nods as the two men left the ready room, grateful that his superior officer hadn’t mentioned the way he had almost ruined the meeting in his anger. Once at Tactical he sent Bailey to check the charges which are soon confirmed aboard along with a few Klingon warriors. With that done the shields are again raised and almost a second later Enterprise and Vorn drop out of warp into the system. 

From the command chair Riker speaks up. “Slow to impulse, take us to the battle coordinates.”

Worf looks at his readout, “Sensors are picking up several vessels Captain.”

Riker looks pensive. “The fleet?”

Data checks his display. “There are no active subspace fields…negligible power readings.”

“Lifesigns?”

“None on the ships, but I am picking up several hundred lifesigns, from various Starfleet shuttles and escape pods fleeing the battle, sir, the Borg don’t appear to be pursuing them. Only a few of the pods are still transmitting distress calls, the rest are silent but the lifesigns are strong.”

“Then they’re going radio silent, smart.”

After double checking his readings Worf speaks up again “Visual contact.”

Riker nods, “On screen.”

The viewscreen activates and the bridge crew look on with horror. The fleet is now nothing but wreckage, many ripped apart by Borg cutting beams. One by one Enterprise passes the dead ships. 

Commander Shelby is on the verge of tears as she looks on and says out loud the names of the ships as they pass. Eventually Worf tracks down the Borg Cube and Enterprise follows after it. The ship is prepared for saucer separation. Worf and Commander Data leave the bridge to prepare for their part of the plan. Meanwhile Riker hails the Borg ship and speaks with Locutus long enough for one of his people to pinpoint his location on the Cube.

As the saucer and stardrive sections of the ship separate, Worf and Data arrive at the main shuttlebay in the saucer section to find their shuttlecraft already loaded with the explosives as well as four rowdy Klingons. One of them approaches the two.

“I am Radruk! According to my commander my men and I are yours to command.” Radruk and the men look at both the android and the Starfleet Klingon with disgust but say nothing more. All six get inside the shuttle, it’s extremely cramped but they just manage to all fit. As the saucer section and the Vorn begin their attack on the Cube the shuttle is launched. Once it picks up enough speed to take them to the Cube, Data shuts down the engines. The shuttle goes ballistic, drifting the rest of the way. While they wait helplessly in the shuttlecraft, the anticipation is palpable. Sweat begins to show on the faces of the five Klingons, the four warrior’s eyes are alight with excitement while Worf’s show only grim determination to rescue his mentor. Soon enough they pass through the electromagnetic field and beam themselves aboard along with the Triannic charges and immediately have a fight on their hands.

They see Locutus and quite a few Borg drones with him. Both Starfleet officers and the four warriors fire on the Borg, all careful not to hit Picard. The Borg soon adapt to the phaser and disruptor-fire, faster than anticipated.

The four warriors drop their disruptors and ready their bat’leths. One of them hands his bat’leth to Worf. “You’ll need this more than I, you honorless p’takh!” With that he draws out two mek’leth short swords and charges into the fray. Worf, his blood up, doesn’t argue and takes the sword and charges with the rest. Decapitating a Borg in a single stroke, black blood spurting from the neck, and Worf, for the first time in months, smiles. The battle is short but sweet; one of the warriors knocks the assimilated captain on his head, once they have him, they beam back, but not before Radruk sets the charges. After they’re back on the shuttle the group are beamed back aboard Enterprise as the shuttle is destroyed by a Borg cutting beam.

There is no magnificent explosion coming from the Cube or anything to indicate that the Triannic charges damaged it at all. Soon the Cube warps away, resuming its course for Earth and Enterprise, now reconnected, chases after it at maximum warp. The Vorn, unable to match their speed, stays behind to aid the survivors and to rendezvous with the Klingon fleet when it arrives, to lead the charge against the Borg should Starfleet fail. This proves unneeded however, as Picard is successfully cut off from the Collective and is eventually able to help Commander Data effectively put the Borg to sleep. Soon after the Borg Cube self-destructs and Earth is saved, Captain Picard makes a full recovery and resumes command of Enterprise following a short but much needed vacation, General Duras returns to Qo’noS to thunderous applause and soon begins to take as much credit as he can for the victory, the two Klingon Birds of Prey under his command that were destroyed being brushed under the rug. Starfleet is left short-staffed following the battle and several bills are presented to the Federation Council to increase the military budget, increase the maximum number of ships and a number of other things but only a couple pass and even then, they are watered down substantially. In short, the galaxy releases its breath and moves on from the Battle of Wolf 359 for the most part. Life goes back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that’s Chapter Three. It wasn’t everything I wanted it to be but after several days hunched over my computer and innumerable rewrites it’s the best I can do. I apologize for the long delay but after the last chapter, which I felt like I nailed despite never having written an action scene before, I was wiped and when I started this, I felt like nothing I wrote was good enough. The next chapter will mostly be emotional drama and I’ll try to add a fair amount of comedy, another thing I’ve never done before. Thankyou to all of you who read this, without all the comments, likes, and hugs (an SV thing) I would have probably never picked this up again.
> 
> I’ve gotten a couple comments from people asking why I call them POV chapters when they are mostly written in third person. To those of you asking it’s because I dislike first person stories and prefer to write from an impersonal third person level though I will occasionally write in first person if I really think the chapter calls for it. I just like writing in a way where you get brief insights into a person’s mind and you see things a bit more from that person’s perspective rather than an objective, eye of God point of view. 
> 
> I also understand that some may not like the way I’ve written Worf here. I tried to get him a lot sullener than he usually is. This Worf got a bit depressed when he found out his father was accused of being a traitor and it was proven beyond a doubt, partially by Data himself. He no longer wears his baldric which displayed his house insignia and had actually belonged to his father, I am ignoring the fact that it changes substantially over the years, I’m blaming that on the costume department. His walls are now unadorned, no more Klingon weapons hanging on them. He’ll get back to his old self eventually though. It will be interesting when he meets Alexander and finds out he has a son; I might do an Alexander POV for that meeting. In the show, while Worf was hesitant about being a father there was still that “I am your father” moment, that might not happen now. Alexander will grow up to be one moody teenager. 
> 
> My thanks to britcuppaT for beta reading, I’m still looking for another beta though, must know a lot about Star Trek, specifically TNG and be passionate about it, common sense and good grammar are optional. You’ll mostly just read my rough drafts and chat with me about them, I need someone to bounce ideas off of, the General Star Trek Discussion Forum on SpaceBattles and the Miscellaneous Star Trek thread on AH have been a lifesaver but I don’t want to bother those guys too much.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and stay safe. Wear a mask! If you read this far you get a cookie!
> 
> Chapter Four will be a Reg Barclay POV!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reg Barclay is forced to go to a party. Seriously, just read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, The Next Generation or the Klingon Empire. I’m also not going to be making money from this. These are all my own words, nothing is plagiarized. 
> 
> Note: This is an un-beta’d version of my chapter, I’ll upload the edited version when my beta comes back from holiday. If you spot a grammar/spelling mistake tell me. If you think I need to change something for better “word flow” or what have you I’d appreciate that as well. 
> 
> Further Note: It never made sense to me how small Ten Forward was in the show, for a total population of 6,000 people you’d think the only mess hall would be a lot bigger, like 20 times larger at least. Yes, I know crew quarters have replicators too so most probably eat in their rooms but it still seems too small, especially considering the mess hall in Voyager was roughly the same size but had a much smaller crew. In this story imagine Ten Forward as being about five times bigger. On one side you have some large windows looking out into space, on the other you have the bar, Guinan is only the main bartender, there’s usually one other, as well as a couple waitstaff for the tables (I know it doesn’t make sense to have waiters since people could just walk twenty feet to a replicator but it’s canon, I guess even in the future people are just lazy). The ends of the room are quieter and less busy. It’s still a military starship though, no dance floor or speakers blasting EDM or whatever, it’s mostly a quiet place to hang out, grab a bite and look at the stars.

Chapter Four  
Stardate 44012.5

Lieutenant Reginald Endicott Barclay is in hell. He doesn’t even know why had to go to the award ceremony or the afterparty now taking place in TenForward. All he had done was help repair the main deflector after the discharge knocked it out. Sure, their quick repair allowed the Enterprise to chase after the Cube, which led to them rescuing Picard, which then led to Picard and Data figuring out how to blow up the Borg, just in the nick of time as usual, but he was only part of the team. The whole crew had gotten a commendation and Riker, Data, Worf and the other Klingons like that General Durass had all received medals from President Inyo himself on the front steps of the Capital in Paris this afternoon, just two weeks after Earth was saved.

Said award ceremony had been a nightmare in and of itself, though thankfully they shuttled them down rather than use the transporters, the flyby and landing looking more dramatic than them just beaming down, at least Reg was spared from that at least. Reg isn’t good at standing at attention. He tends to fidget, then once he catches himself fidgeting, he’ll consciously force himself to stop and soon enough all of his focus is on not moving and that’s when the panic typically sets in. It’s the same reason why meditation has never worked for him despite Deanna’s attempts. First, he’ll forget to breathe right up until he almost passes out, then, after the following gasping breath he’ll focus too much on the breathing until it’s all he can think about and then he starts hyperventilating. He once spent a whole day in a panic when he thought his mind had forgotten how to unconsciously breath and he had to consciously breathe the whole day and by the next day when the crisis was over, he felt like he had aged ten years. Parties, though, are worse, because at least with those other things there’s a build-up to panic, with the parties the panic is immediate and lasts the whole way through. Even then it wouldn’t be so bad if there was a side-room to duck into or a coatrack to hide behind, Ten Forward doesn’t even have a coatrack!

  
/not the party, just thought it was funny/

At least Guinan has been kind enough to rescue him by constantly plying him with hor’dourves whenever she passes by with a new plate, but even chewing very slowly as an excuse not to speak has only accounted for a quarter of his time so far. None of the hor’dourves so far have been very chewy so he probably looks like an idiot for chewing for so long. It’s now been half an hour; he’s starting to feel full and he’s sure people are staring at him wondering who let the weirdo in.

Deanna had promised to help but she eventually got pulled away to talk to some sleazy politician and is now sending him concerned looks every couple of minutes. Now though, he’s alone, standing in a corner wearing his dress uniform and wishing to any god who’d listen that some long-dormant chameleon genes in his DNA would activate so that he could camouflage into the wall. If only he were so lucky. Barclay is currently quietly watching the Klingon General Durass talk with some of politicians invited to the party, though talking isn’t the right word for it. The man is easily conversing with half a dozen people at once, mostly journalists or politicians, holding six different conversations in a way that seems effortlessly charming and apparently doesn’t annoy any of the people he’s speaking with that they aren’t the sole focus of his attention. It’s seamless how he keeps switching, to Reg it reminds him of skiing moguls, something Reg is actually quite good at, at least on the holodeck. Ahh, the holodeck…

The holodeck is his sanctuary, his safe harbor, a place to go to when he feels like the walls are closing in and the only place where he feels like he can fully be himself. Just six months ago he had a real problem with holoaddiction, still does really, but Deanna had recommended that he only cut back on his hours and now he can’t just walk in whenever he feels like it. Unless he’s scheduled for it ahead of time or has Counselor Troi’s permission the ship’s computer won’t even let him inside except for maintenance. Sure, he, as one of the best system engineers onboard, he could reprogram the computer to let him in, something he suspects Deanna’s aware of, but that would be a breach of the trust she’s placed in him and he wouldn’t do that, though there were moments when he felt very tempted like now. Nowadays his time in the holodeck is spent either in harmlessly fun activities like the aforementioned skiing or fencing, he’d even played a game or two of Dom-jot with Geordi, the real Geordi, though he still believes the chief engineer has an unfair advantage due to his VISOR, or he spends his time socializing with holographic versions of the crew, as realistic as the computer could make them, where he can actually talk to people without the accompanying awkwardness and panic. Counselor Troi had even accompanied him on some of these simulations, as part of an exercise to boost his confidence with the holograms’ flesh and blood counterparts, but that’s only been partially successful. 

Barclay, now slowly munching on some kind of Rigellian turnip (thank you Guinan), is having a slightly better time of it, lost in his own thoughts. That is until General Durass, apparently having finished his simultaneous chats, begins approaching him and Reg’s heart stops, or feels like it has. There is almost no one around him, he’s standing in the corner in the least populated section of the room, most of the people being by the bar, the big windows looking out into space, or in-between. There is no one Durass could be approaching but Barclay, who is in a full-on panic, adrenaline pumping through his veins and his neck is starting to feel warm. Reg’s eyes are racing, scanning the room for anyone to rescue him but Guinan is again behind the bar serving drinks and Geordi is in conversation with Commander Data and President Inyo himself, probably trying to make sure his robotic friend doesn’t unintentionally say something unwise to one of the most powerful men in the Alpha Quadrant. Deanna has now wrested herself from the clutches of that sleazy Councilor but is now clear on the other side of the room, separated from him by throngs of people and now, sensing his emotions, is sending him a very concerned look.

…but, at the last moment, when all hope of surviving this party with his dignity at least partially intact seems lost, a woman steps in between the two of them before the Klingon can get too close and begins speaking to the general loud enough for Barclay to overhear. The woman is humanoid, about 1.7 meters tall, fair skinned with honey blonde hair tied in a pony tail. She’s conservatively dressed, wearing a deep blue gown that probably matches her eyes (she’s facing away from Reg, towards Duras) and unlike most women at the party she’s wearing flats. In one hand she is holding a glass of sparkling wine and in the other is a PADD. Not even a second after she put herself directly in the path of the Klingon she’s already speaking. “General Duras, I’m Callista Durrer, Federation News Service, may I have a moment of your time?” Before Durass…, or is it Duras? Barclay pales a bit at the thought that he might have angered the man, a man who could probably kill him with only his pinky, by mispronouncing his name so badly; this woman, Callista, is clearly an angel sent to keep him from being headbutted to death by an irate Klingon. Anyway, before Duras can respond the woman taps a button on her PADD, assumedly setting it to record what the general is about to say.

Duras only smiles, no hint of annoyance on his face, and says “Of course Ms. Durrer, let’s find us a table so we can talk.” Someone like Duras, a foreign official who just got a medal given by the President of the Federation himself could have easily gotten a table by a window, but no! he instead grabbed the pair of them an empty one even closer to where Barclay is standing. No longer facing away from him, Barclay can see that Ms. Durrer is in fact not human like her name suggested but a Trill, dark brown spots trailing from her temples, down the sides of her face, past her arms and finally disappearing beneath the straps of her gown, which does indeed match her eyes. Callista, a rather unusual name for a Trill, it’s possible she has some human ancestry though not necessarily, it could just be a coincidence, after all, Reg’s Starfleet Academy roommate was named Nancy despite being a Tellarite, Barclay mused, though he had been teased quite a bit for the name.

While she seemed to be a bit pushy before the start of the interview, the young woman seems to have calmed a bit once they sit down. They speak for several minutes speaking on several topics. First, she asks some easy questions, how he felt about getting the medal, (he felt good about it) about his family, (they’re fine thanks for asking) if he was married, (not yet) if he had any children, (one son) to more important, hard-hitting questions about such things as the specifics of the battle, (he gives a pretty long-winded answer and takes a lot of credit) why he was in Federation space in the first place (his squadron was on silent maneuvers) , what does ‘silent maneuvers’ mean, (it’s complicated) as well as several questions relating to Klingon House and Council politics, culminating in her asking him whether or not he intends to challenge for the right of succession when K’mpec eventually dies (he couldn’t possibly comment and hopefully Chancellor K’mpec will live for many more years at least.) Reg does his best not to eavesdrop, he really does, but is fascinated by the conversation. He gets the feeling Duras doesn’t really like Ms. Durrer but is smiling and being a good sport purely so that her article would be complementary of him. Just as the Klingon is about to extricate himself from the pushy blonde, causing Reg’s heartrate to again increase at the thought that he might come to speak to him like he seemed to be about to do before, Reg’s combadge beeps.

“Pierson to Barclay, you’re needed down in Engineering, half the pool table’s readouts have gone dark over here.”

Pure relief floods through Reg as he quickly leaves his little corner and walks out of the room, mumbling to anyone listening that he’s needed in Engineering. He briefly considers whether he should go to his quarters to change into his uniform first but decides that if it’s an emergency he doesn’t want to be late, he’s gotten enough demerits for tardiness to last him a lifetime as it is. Barclay soon arrives at Main Engineering to find the pool table (its official name is the Master Systems Display Table or MSDT but everyone calls it the pool table) completely functional, all the readouts fully functioning. He then sees Pierson looking at him from the workstation.

“There’s no emergency, La Forge told me you needed rescuing, he also said to tell you Counselor Troi has given her permission for you to use the holodeck if you want it.” Pierson was smirking at him now “Go on, enjoy your freedom, Broccoli.”

Reg’s earlier feeling of relief turns to pure joy as he hears the news and nothing, not even Pierson calling him by that horrid nickname, can get him down. He practically skips down to Holodeck Two (no, that makes him sound girly, he simply walks with enthusiasm and occasionally adds a hop to his step, that’s all, much manlier). He survived; he actually survived a party without embarrassing himself too much. Reg soon finds himself at the entrance to Holodeck Two and briefly considers what program to run before making the choice and stepping inside.

While it’s not always easy to put into words, Reg knows why it’s so much easier for him to talk and interact with holographic versions of real people rather than their flesh and blood counterparts, with the holograms there’s no pressure, no panic at the idea he’ll screw up because he can always reset the program and start over, and because there’s no panic he usually doesn’t screw up at all. Reg can actually be very smooth and charming when he’s comfortable, something that actually surprised Counselor Troi when she first accompanied him in one of the simulations. She had actually used her rank to help Reg get access to Enterprise’s raw surveillance footage (excluding it’s operational centers) to make the personalities of the holographic representations of the crew even more realistic though she had firmly shot down his idea of using their private psychological profiles to further flesh the program out, their public profiles, little more than two page bios for the most part, would have to do. Upon getting to know more of the crew though their simulations, Reg was embarrassed to realize that he didn’t really know them at all and how their old holographic selves, before he upgraded his program, were essentially caricatures. 

It only takes a few seconds using the new algorithms to completely recreate the party that was still in progress. In a moment the space is filled with the noise of almost a hundred partygoers and the smells from the various hor’dourves fill the room. About half the people attending the party are crew, the other half made up of mostly public officials, celebrities and journalists like Ms. Durrer. The program pulls from public networks to legally collect as much data as it could, for the non-crew that usually means news articles and video. Once it’s finished, Reg finds himself in an exact copy of Ten Forward, seconds later the party itself finishes rendering and Reg is just one man among many. It takes no time at all for Reg to build the courage to strike up a conversation with a random person and soon half an hour has passed and Reg has had conversations with a dozen people he’d never met before (and technically still hasn’t, most likely never will). Some of the journalists, Ms. Durrer among them, just seem a little two-dimensional, which makes sense Reg supposes, journalists, at least the good ones, report on the story, they don’t become part of the story, there’d be less information available on them. Some of the simulations of Reg’s co-workers are now simply watching him in awe, not understanding what changed to make Reg so confident, the holodeck’s safeguards keeping them from figuring it out. However, unknown to Mr. Barclay, the simulation of Commander Data has already discerned the truth, that he and everyone but Barclay are holograms, and decides that it would perhaps be unwise to share this information, not wanting to panic his friends. Data, not possessing human emotions, cannot feel the existential horror he would otherwise be feeling at this realization, but nonetheless begins to feel a sense of disquietment at the prospect that sometime soon the program will end and his existence will be terminated. It is Data who notices the Klingon enter the holodeck. General Duras, unseen by Barclay, observes the simulation for a moment before telling the computer to delete the character based on himself. As he is a foreign official and a guest onboard ship, the computer obliges and the holographic Duras vanishes, something Barclay also fails to notice. With a pleased look on his face, Duras approaches.

Reg had just finished a fascinating conversation about the New Atlantis Project with the hologram of the governor of the underwater city when he is approached by General Duras. Certain that it’s the hologram he’s talking to, Reg feels no fear or anxiety in speaking to the Klingon. 

“Excuse me, are you the engineer who repaired Enterprise’s main deflector before the battle?”

Barclay, his ego inflated and without his social anxiety to get in the way, replies “Yes, I led the team that was responsible for that, why do you ask? General Duras was it?”

Duras smiles a bit at that and replies “Well, I wanted to thank you of course! If you hadn’t had fixed the deflector when you did my the Vorn would have had to fight the Cube alone and would have been destroyed; I wouldn’t be alive if not for your timely repair, so thank you.”

Reg feels somewhat anxious at the praise despite his belief that he’s speaking to a hologram. Perhaps some part of him is instinctively aware that he is talking to a flesh and blood person, but Reg’s next sentence isn’t spoken with the confidence he had possessed a few seconds ago. He stumbles in his reply. “Thanks, I guess?” Not knowing what else he can say, Reg glances about the room while he internally scrambles for something to say when he spots the simulation of Ms. Durrer and remembers the reporter’s final question. “Pe-People think you’re going to be the next Chancellor.”

A grin flashes across Duras’ face as he answers “Because I will be!” 

That answer surprises Reg a bit, but he supposes the simulation wouldn’t be perfect and the hologram would answer that question differently, but still, the fact the man actually admitted it rather than sidestep the question like the real Duras did earlier is interesting and he can’t help but respond. “Oh, I thought the new Chancellor is only chosen after the old one dies. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, but it’s essentially a forgone conclusion, I’m the man the Empire needs.”

“Oh?” Reg’s curiosity is now trumping his anxiety “Why is that?”

“Tell me Lieutenant Barclay, what do you know about Klingon technology?”

Duras’ tone reminds Reg of some of his Starfleet Academy professors and Reg unconsciously straitens his back at the memory. “Not much other than it being comparable to Federation technology for the most part.”

“Then allow me to educate you.” Duras says in a pretentious in a tone of voice, “Klingons have never truly developed our own technology, we’ve always taken it by from others. We got warp drive from the Hur’q, transporters from the Imnaeti, disruptors from the Xarantine and holotech from the Xyrillians. Most of our industry comes from conquered species and client races, this freed us to focus on conquest but it’s also severely limiting us. However, we haven’t had a major war in over fifty years and because of that we’re starting to fall behind. A century ago, the Bird of Prey was one of the most powerful classes of ship in the known galaxy but now, even with the newest refit, it’s becoming less than second-rate. K’mpec knows this, he isn’t stupid, quite the opposite in fact, but his solution is to turn to the Federation to solve our problems, I see things differently.”

“So, w-what would you do?” Reg hesitantly asks, he’s practically shaking at this point but he still hasn’t figured it out, he’s also breathing rather quickly.

For a moment Duras looks like he might answer but thinks better of it, grinning so widely Reg can see his teeth, they’re whiter than Worf’s. “Now that’s my secret Mr. Barclay. Did you really think a hologram based on surveillance records and a few interviews would be able to answer that?”

After hearing that Reg starts hyperventilating, this is bad, something is obviously wrong with the program. Ordinarily the holodeck’s safety protocols keep holo-characters from learning the nature of their existence but sometimes mistakes happen. Just a couple years ago one such character wreaked havoc on Enterprise after he had been generated by the computer with only the requirement, given by Geordi, that he be ‘capable of defeating Data.’ That situation had been resolved and since then changes have made to the protocols to make the holodeck more secure but to Barclay it was obvious that they weren’t working. Reg closes his eyes and reminds that despite everything, it’s only a hologram, it works a little. He opens his eyes and says to Duras, a little too quickly. “I have togonowbye!”

With that Reg turns towards where he knows where the arch is and practically runs to it while he calls out “Computer, end program!” Reg slows down when Ten Forward dissolves and is replaced by the black and yellow grid of the holodeck. Reg is halfway out the door when something impossible (from his perspective) happens… a hand grabs his shoulder, just outside of the holoprojector’s range.

A wave of terror crashes into Reg as he realizes this isn’t a hologram of Duras, it is Duras! He panics, of course he panics, but one clear thought nonetheless emerges: Why would Duras talk to him? He’s no one! 

A small part of Barclay believes Duras is going to kill him for ‘knowing too much’ or something like that, despite his surety that he really doesn’t know anything about the Klingon, but a larger, more rational part, realizes that that makes no sense, why would a respected general want to kill him? Despite the hell of the situation he’s in, his rational mind actually wins out for once, and Reg, his shoulder still being firmly held by the Klingon and despite his fears, actually turns around and looks at Duras’ with an actual shred of resolve. With more courage than he’d have thought possible, he even manages to look into Duras’ dark green eyes, his courage, however, is not enough to make himself speak so, with a look of clear concern, Duras begins.

“I apologize for my deception, Lieutenant, I tried to talk to you at the party but that reporter got in the way.”

“Why?” Reg asks, confusion written on his face, “You don’t know anything about me.”

The other man lets go of his shoulder before explaining “Because I know you very well Reg, possibly better than you know yourself. This is just the first chance I’ve had to meet you.” Reg wants to scream that he hasn’t answered his question but Duras continues. “I used to be a lot like you, you know. Even the thought of going to a party made me nauseous, sometimes I’d even break out in hives just talking to a stranger, for most of my life I was a shut-in.”

If he believed that, Reg would have been shocked but in his mind, there’s no way Duras was ever like him, he’s too good, his performance at the party would put most politicians to shame, there’s just no way, but despite his disbelief Reg decides to hear what the man has to say. “How? If that’s the case, how did you overcome it, I saw you at the party, you were effortless. If what you’re saying is true then how were you able to do that?”

Duras walks back into the holodeck, not wanting to be heard by random passersby and Reg intuitively follows him. Once he’s sure they’re alone Duras looks at him inquisitively before asking a question of his own. “How are you able to be charming and friendly with characters on the holodeck?”

Reg looks confused “Because it’s not real, none of them were real.”

“Then you have your answer, Lieutenant, I’m able to talk to people without breaking into sweats and go to parties without vomiting because I can convince myself that none of them are real.”

Barclay takes a step back; this man is clearly insane. He’d heard that some people would deal with social anxiety by imagining the people around them naked (something he himself had tried, it just made him more nervous) but this was on a whole other level. Even if it worked, it had to be the worst coping mechanism Reg had ever heard of. Before he can speak up Duras starts again, this time with an edge to his voice.

“I’m not crazy, just consider this scenario: you’re in the holodeck one day, in one of your simulations of the Enterprise but there’s an explosion or something and you’re knocked unconscious. You wake up in sickbay, completely healed, and go about your day when you start to notice some inconsistencies and you think ‘I’m still in the holodeck!’ so you call for the computer to end the program but nothing happens. As time goes on you don’t know what to think, you still notice some inconsistencies and now you wonder are you in the holodeck or not, perhaps it’s just a residual effect of the head trauma or something? That question gives you enough doubt that you can actually interact with your shipmates like a normal person but as time passes you begin to wonder ‘if I was in the holodeck why haven’t they gotten me out yet?’ A few more days go by and now you’re almost certain that you’re not in the holodeck but you still have that tiny piece of doubt and you use it in your interactions but as each day passes that doubt continues to shrink, and now, so that you can interact with your shipmates like a normal person, so that you can feel like a normal person, you have to actively force yourself to believe that it’s all a simulation or a coma dream. You have to willingly ignore the growing evidence that this is real in order for you yourself to feel real for the first time in your life!”

Reg is almost struck speechless by the rant and for the first time feels real, genuine, concern for the man. This Duras is very different from the Duras of a few minutes ago, he looks haunted. “Do you really believe that? Do you think I’m not real?”

Duras, seemingly looking through Reg, replies with a haggard sigh “I don’t know, I just don’t know anymore. That was just an example, a hypothetical, my situation is a lot different but you get the idea. Still, a part of me is terrified that if this is all real then I’m the one who’s fake.”

“Maybe, while you’re here, you should speak with Counselor Troi. She can help you.”

At that, a hard edge enters the Klingon’s voice and he looks a little angry now “No. Certainly not!”

Reg is still confused “Then why me?”

“Because,” Duras, replies with a small smile, “Out of everyone, you are the most real to me, for reasons I won’t go into.” With that he seems to collect himself and starts to walk back out the door but looks back and says one more thing “If you tell anyone I spoke to you about this I’ll deny it, I made sure your computer didn’t record any of this. As far as it’s concerned, I’m in my quarters.” With that he walks away.

Reg, stunned and mentally depleted, stands stock still in the hallway outside Holodeck Two for a couple minutes and considers that no one, except perhaps Deanna, would ever believe the conversation he just had. Tired, but his mind still whirring, Reg decides that he’s had enough of the holodeck for one day and decides to return to his quarters for a nightcap. He walks through the double doors leading out into the hall, leaving the presumably empty holodeck.

…except now it’s not empty.

For standing in the middle of the holodeck is the simulation of Lieutenant Commander Data… he’s smiling.

End of Arc One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s Chapter Four! This chapter was originally envisioned as a lighthearted holodeck adventure but quickly became something very different, nonetheless I hope you liked it. As you can see, butterflies are starting to flap their wings! This chapter was mostly meant to make Duras a bit more of a sympathetic character but don’t misunderstand, he’s not, and never will be a good guy, I’m just trying to make him a little more three dimensional. 
> 
> My next chapter will be an interlude, not part of an arc but they will typically foreshadow important upcoming events. I will be keeping the POV characters for the Interludes a secret, I’ll get to why in a moment. I’ve decided that after every arc there will be one interlude. After the interlude I’ll take a couple weeks to a month off, only editing previous chapters or writing omakes. The next arc will be about Duras doing shady political stuff on Qo’noS and generally trying to get his house in order. That might change though, like I said in the beginning I have no plan other than a few vague ideas and a showstopping finale to the third arc where canon will fully go off the rails and I’ll lose most of my readership.
> 
> The character Callista Durrer is this arc’s cameo character. reluctantuser won the first cameo contest on AH by guessing the name of Duras’ accountant (it was D’Ghor). I’ve decided to make this a regular thing so from today, Saturday the 24rd of October to the evening of Friday the 30th of October the first person who correctly guesses who the first interlude character will be on any of the six sites I post this fic on will get to see their character in the story in one of the second arc chapters. To be clear, the cameo character will never be the POV character, just someone I’ll work into the story. For every contest I’ll include a hint. The second cameo contest’s hint is: 
> 
> This is a character who only appears once but is mentioned several times.
> 
> Vague, I know, but I’m almost certain someone will get it. If not, the contest will be more about who’s character I think is best but I doubt it will come to that unless only a few people enter.
> 
> What I need from those entering the competition is:
> 
> Your official guess (you can only guess once; please don’t try changing it in edit, besides, I’ll be checking regularly and keeping notes.)
> 
> Your character’s species: For this arc your character must be Klingon but hybrids are OK, for example a half Klingon half Kzinti. If you want a hybrid the other species must be an alpha canon species.
> 
> Your character’s job: As long as it fits in enough within Klingon society anything you come up with is fine, we know they don’t have just warriors, they have businessmen, politicians, judges, lawyers the list goes on. Just keep it SFW.
> 
> Your character’s name: Try to come up something that sounds like a name a Klingon or part Klingon would have, I only allowed reluctantuser to give their character a human name because I hadn’t thought it through at the time and it kind of worked and let me make up Nancy the male Tellarite (there will be an omake)
> 
> Finally, a couple personality traits: this you can go nuts with; I’ll try to fit them into the story as best I can.
> 
> Please send your guess and your character details in the same comment (you can edit to change your character details if you think of something better). If someone guesses correctly, I will make no announcement as I still want it to be a surprise for the readers. It should be obvious but I’ll say it anyway: only submit an original character that you invented, not someone else’s.
> 
> Well I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Stay safe! Wear a mask! Vote for [REDACTED]!


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